


and so the american experiment begins

by anakinno



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Break Up, Domestic Avengers, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Politics, Pranks and Practical Jokes, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, taking the angsty superhero movies a lot less seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23172202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakinno/pseuds/anakinno
Summary: After learning of Steve's tendency to rant about all things American, the Avengers decide to make a game to see how far his patriotic streak goes, with unintended consequences.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 42
Kudos: 381





	1. pay your fucking taxes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is my first work that I've ever posted, despite years of stockpiling fic deep in my laptop's files, so please be nice! This is unbeta'd, as well, so please point out any spelling or grammar issues that I've missed.
> 
> I hope to post this in two or three parts--school is canceled for the next three weeks due to COVID-19, so I have plenty of time to work on it and post it in the next few days!! Stay safe guys <3
> 
> Title is a reference from _Hamilton._
> 
> Rated T for innuendo and language.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some planning on the team's part, the game is on! But Tony has his own Steve-related problems to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference from "One Last Ride," a cut song from _Hamilton_.
> 
> CW for referenced drinking.

To be honest, Tony should have seen it coming.

It all starts—or, at least, the idea’s planted—on Thanksgiving. Of course, some supervillain decides to attack New York, complete with robot turkeys. The battle only lasts for about half an hour before S.H.I.E.L.D. is taking the man into custody and the robot turkeys are dust on the streets of NYC.

Kicking at a pile of craft-store feathers, Sam mutters something scathing about turkeys and Thanksgiving. They’re completely fed up after the battle, all of them, which is probably why Steve turns to the other man and starts to rant about the importance of the holiday.

Tony’s taken aback, but he doesn’t show it. Instead, he watches the expression on Sam’s face morph from surprise to thinly-veiled amusement as Steve blows off steam, the words flying out faster than ever.

He shares an amused glance with Clint, who’s watching Sam and Steve with a barely-contained look of glee.

It's Clint who invents the game that night. Steve is out cold on the sofa, snoring into the cushions as credits roll on the TV screen, and the rest of them gather around to hear him explain.

The rules are simple: whoever can get Steve to rant for the longest, on the patriotic subject of their choice, is the winner. Natasha rolls her eyes (apparently they’re being childish, shocker), but she promises not to tell Steve.

“I think there needs to be at least one witness,” she adds, a few minutes later, with a nod at Tony. “I don’t put it past Tony to cheat.”

Tony makes a face at her, only slightly affronted, but the rest of the Avengers nod solemnly.

“Look at this face,” Tony says, and he pouts, trying for Steve’s puppy-dog eyes. “Would I cheat?”

“Yes,” Clint says immediately, because he’s an asshole, and that’s just validation that the puppy dog eyes only work when Steve’s the one doing them. Tony, in return, sticks his tongue out, childish as always.

“Alright, one witness,” Bruce says, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Does JARVIS count?”

“Yes, JARVIS counts,” Nat decides, “but you have to have video proof as well.”

They all look over at Steve, who is crumpled in an extremely uncomfortable position on the sofa, and then back at Nat.

“What does the winner get?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

“I’ll make a trophy,” Tony decides. He motions for his tablet with grabby hands—Bucky passes it to him from the coffee table—and starts to sketch out the design with sweeping curves as he speaks. “It’ll be shaped like Steve, of course. An Avengers Oscar.”

Bucky snorts, and Clint is cackling like a maniac when Tony spins the tablet to show them.

And then they’re off. The next morning, while waiting for the coffee to brew, Steve is talking to Nat about the elections, which Tony sees as the perfect opportunity to get a leg up on the competition.

He shares a glance with Bruce, who quirks his lips up into a smile and gives him a small nod. Tony mutters, “JARVIS, if you please,” and JARVIS doesn’t say anything, but Tony can tell he’s recording.

He slides into one of the counter seats with a cup of coffee, and Steve grins at him before turning back to the conversation.

“I’d definitely vote Murphy, though,” Nat is saying, twisting a lock of hair around her finger with a thoughtful look on her face. “I don’t think Arnold is up to the job.”

“Murphy’s a republican,” Steve reminds her.

“It’s not like he’s going to be a white supremacist like Trump. Besides, not all republicans are bad,” she shoots back. “Murphy’s got good, mostly liberal ideas for the lower classes."

“What do you think, Tony?” Steve says, turning to ask him. “Murphy or Arnold?” It’s clear he’s expecting an answer, so Tony gives one to him.

“Oh, actually, I don’t vote,” Tony says, and he throws it in there casually, ignoring the way that Natasha’s lips quirk and Steve’s jaw drops in horror. It’s clear that Steve’s been thrown for a loop. “Never been one for politics."

“You don’t vote,” Steve repeats, deadpan. He seems to recover himself before saying, “Are you insane, Tony? Voting is incredibly important.” Tony waits a second with bated breath, and, true to his own reputation, Steve starts up with a rant again.

“Do you have any idea how important the democratic process is?! It’s downright dangerous to give up your say like that! The republican system is based off of our participation. That’s what the Founding Fathers fought for! You have no idea how many people live in New York City who can’t vote! People on greencards have given up their say until they can become citizens. If we let the federal government run without our say, that’s incredibly dangerous!”

Tony zones out at the word “democracy” after that, watching Steve’s face. His cheeks are flushed with the exertion, eyes shining as he regales Tony with a passionate explanation of the democratic system and its dangers.

Natasha’s smirking at Tony from behind the counter as Steve finishes up his rant with a, “Please, Tony, for the good of the country.”

Tony grins, a little roguishly. “I’ll think about it,” he says, and he slides off his stool, leaving Steve sitting at the kitchen table with his cup of coffee, satisfied. Bruce follows him a moment later, in order to be unobtrusive.

“How long was that?” Tony stage-whispers to Bruce when they’re far enough away not to be heard. 

Bruce checks his watch. “A minute and thirty seconds. That’s pretty long, considering how fast Steve rants.”

“Yes!” Tony exclaims. He does a little victory dance on the spot, which Bruce watches, amused. “Tell Clint he’s got a big storm coming. JARVIS, did you print out the trophy?”

“It finished printing about five minutes ago,” JARVIS replies helpfully. “Check in the 3D printer on the laboratory level, Mr. Stark.”

“Thanks buddy.” Tony grins at Bruce, who’s rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Whatever, Tony. I’ll see you later,” he says, clapping Tony on the shoulder before heading towards the elevator. Tony bites the inside of his cheek before JARVIS kindly reminds him that he has work to do in the lab.

“I’d better get started, then,” he says, already keying in the elevator code to take him to the labs.

* * *

Later that day, when Tony’s knee-deep in machine parts in the lab, he hears a knock at the glass that almost topples him over. He’s completely in the zone, rock music blaring, so it takes him a moment to yell, “JARVIS, shut it!” and peer at the hallway outside his lab to see Bruce standing there nervously.

“Brucie-Bear!” Tony exclaims once he’s righted himself. He taps at the screens in front of him to shut down the prototype he’s working on, and wades out from behind his workbench with a, “Come on in!”

With a small grin, Bruce enters the lab, letting the glass door fall shut behind him. “Heya, Tony,” he says. “Pepper asked me to check in on you.” He twists his hands over in front of him, his gaze not meeting Tony's eyes. 

Tony feel his blood run cold, and he suddenly realizes why Bruce is so hesitant. “Oh, hell, what time is it?”

Bruce grimaces, but JARVIS cuts in before he can answer. “It is currently half past two in the morning, sir.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. “I missed dinner, didn’t I?” Tony asks, glancing at Bruce. One look at Bruce’s expression confirms it. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He feels the familiar waves of self-deprecation return.

“It’s okay,” Bruce cautions, hands out in front of him like he’s taming a dangerous animal. “She’s on your floor. She asked me to come get you… something about bad experiences in your lab.”

Tony winces, remembering the time he almost hit Pepper with a repulsor blast to the head. In his defense, she hadn't knocked before entering the lab and he hadn’t any idea she was in there.

“Yeah, that’s probably best,” he sighs, glancing down at his filthy hands. “God, I suck. JARVIS, tell Pepper I’ll be right up.”

“Right away, sir,” JARVIS says. Tony can detect a note of incredulity in the AI's voice as he heads over to the sink to wash his hands.

Pepper is sitting on Tony’s bed when he finally makes it out of the elevator onto his floor. She’s wearing a gorgeous blue dress that hugs her figure, and she looks beautiful—like always—but Tony is too focused on the pain in her eyes as she regards him, carefully.

“Pepper,” he says, and then he stops short. He doesn’t know what to say—apologize? Beg for her forgiveness when they both know that it’s definitely going to happen again? “Pep,” he tries again. “I’m so sorry. I was working on the new mark, and I lost track of time—you know how it is. It won’t happen again.”

They both know that’s not true, but Pepper doesn’t comment on it. She sighs, biting her lip, before saying, “It’s okay, Tony.”

“I know tonight was supposed to be our anniversary dinner, and I really, really fucked up.” He’s rambling now. “Just—give me another chance, okay? Tomorrow night? I can get us reservations anywhere you want. Just—“

“Tony,” she says firmly, cutting off the rest of his God-awful apology. “I think we need to talk.”

“No dinner then? That’s fine, how do you feel about ice skating? We can talk the whole time. I can book out Trump Rink for the night, just the two of us—“

“Tony.” Her voice is hard. “Please, just stop talking for a second.”

He looks back at her then, silent. Sitting next to her on the bed like this, he can see the tear tracks where she’s been crying. Her makeup is still impeccable, but her eyes are red, and for a second Tony utterly hates himself for putting her through this.

“I think we should break up.”

That gets his attention, and he looks at her in surprise—that was not at all what he expected. “What?”

“I think,” she repeats, slower, “we should break up. You’re clearly not invested in this relationship—“

“I’m plenty invested!”

“—and I think we should at least take a break. Tony, please.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do this for me. I just need—“

“—some time,” Tony finishes, rather numbly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m not saying for good,” she reminds him gently. “I love you—this doesn’t change that.” She leans over and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Love you too,” Tony mumbles, staring down at his hands, at least semi-resigned to his fate. He leans over and embraces her, trying to ignore the wetness in his eyes. He doesn’t know how he’s going to face her—or even Bruce—tomorrow.

* * *

“You don’t pay taxes?!”

Tony smirks into his tablet as Clint lounges back on the sofa. “Nah,” he says. “I don’t like the government stealing my money."

Steve sounds like he’s going to have an aneurysm if this keeps up. “You don’t pay taxes,” he repeats. “Clint, that’s illegal!”

“Maybe.” Clint sounds pretty self-satisfied; he reaches across Steve to snag a chip from the bag. “Doesn’t bother me too much."

“But—but—“ Steve splutters. “That’s tax evasion!”

“JARVIS, define tax evasion,” Clint says aloud with a roguish grin.

_"Tax evasion is the illegal evasion of taxes by individuals, corporations, and trusts,”_ JARVIS says promptly. He sounds like he’s reading the Wikipedia page on the subject. _"Tax evasion often entails dishonest tax reporting, such as declaring less income, profits or gains than the amounts actually earned, or overstating deductions.”_

“Exactly,” Clint scoffs, sitting back again. He’s reclining in the corner of the couch without a care in the world, ignoring Steve turning red next to him. “Does it sound like I’m lying about my income?"

“The next time you treat my artificial intelligence like an Amazon Alexa,” Tony tells him, "I’m replacing all of your arrows with spray-painted Q-tips.”

Clint crunches another mouthful of chips between his teeth. Mouth full, he says, "Whatever you say, metal man."

Steve looks over at Tony, still shocked. “Tony! Tell him to—to—“

“To pay his taxes?” Tony chances a glance at Clint, who’s smiling like an angel. “I don’t know, Steve. I don’t think the President himself could convince Clint to pay his taxes.”

And that’s all that Steve needs to get riled up. Tony grins as Steve takes a deep breath, spitting, “The federal government only has the ability to tax in order to defend the nation! That’s why the Articles of Confederation had no power—“

“The articles of what-now?” Clint says, managing to keep a straight face. 

“Articles of Confederation! The first draft of the Constitution!” Steve is sounding more and more riled up now. “Have you never taken a U.S. history class?”

“High school dropout right here, pal,” Clint says, pointing at himself proudly. “The only document I know is the Magna Carta—that’s American law, right?”

Tony has to remove himself from the situation right then and there in order to stop from laughing and giving the game away. “I’m going to get more chips,” he says, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice as Tony stands up and exits the living room. Behind him, he hears, “The Magna Carta is _British_ , Clint!”

“Still doesn't mean I should pay taxes!"

* * *

Tony and Clint pass the trophy back and forth about three or four times in the next few weeks before Natasha gets a leg up on the competition. With Bucky as her witness, she manages to convince Steve that she doesn’t know who George Washington is. With a winning record of six minutes, forty-two seconds, it takes the rest of them two weeks to break her streak.

This month, Tony finds himself spending more time around Steve than usual, laughing at the team’s attempts to bring up politics in conversation. Steve must suspect something by now, since some of the more outlandish attempts include Sam trying to convince Steve that the United States has a prime minister as head executive, and Bucky claiming that he doesn’t have a social security number.

It’s the day after the SSN fiasco (where Steve adamantly refuses to believe Bucky, to the point of asking JARVIS to pull up Bucky’s birth certificate and records), and Tony’s nursing a headache and a glass of water at an ungodly hour in the kitchen. Natasha had convinced him to spar last night, and he has aches and pains all over. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion that has settled over him, he can’t sleep—plagued with his usual nightmares that keep him up all night screaming. No wonder Pepper decided to break up with him; Tony wouldn’t be able to handle himself like this either.

Light footsteps on the tiled hallway are the only warning he gets before Steve comes into the kitchen, hair ruffled from sleep. He stops short when he sees Tony, lips breaking into a small smile that does something to Tony’s chest. It’s probably just a fluctuation in the arc reactor—he’ll have to check that out later.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve says softly. He’s standing in the doorway, hesitant, like he’s intruding on something. The city’s skyline—all lit up in the darkness outside—casts strange light across his cheeks.

Tony lets out a shallow laugh. “Not really, no.” He turns back to his glass, taking a sip of water and wishing it was something stronger. He doesn’t have a sarcastic remark at the ready, so he holds his tongue.

Steve pads softly across the kitchen floor to the stove in his socked feet—his socks, Tony notices, are Iron Man-themed. “I was going to make some cocoa,” Steve says. His voice is soft, unobtrusive. “Ma always used to make it for me when I couldn’t sleep, back home. Would you like some?”

Tony is about to refuse, but he thinks better of it. “You know what, sure. It can’t hurt.”

Steve hums in agreement, and sets about to make them both cups of cocoa. They stay in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Steve pours milk into a pan and stirs the cocoa powder and sugar in slowly. Once the drink is ready, he pours it into two mugs and sits down, across from Tony, at the counter.

Tony takes the mug Steve offers him and sips at the hot drink slowly, feeling warmth spread through his body. He can’t help but sigh in contentment, which makes Steve chuckle.

“Sounds like you need it,” he says, leaning his face on his hand as he sips his cocoa. “You’ve been working so hard lately.”

“It hasn't been too much work,” Tony defends automatically.

Steve levels him with a look. “Tony,” he says firmly, and he sounds _so much like Pepper_ in this instant that Tony wants to cry. “You’ve been running around all week doing press conferences for SI. Not to mention you’ve been up late every night working in the lab. You have to rest sometime, you know?”

Tony’s staring at him. “How do you know my routine?” is the first thing out of his mouth, and he instantly wants to take it back. These fucking two AM conversations have him losing all his filters.

“I notice,” Steve says, and his lips quirk up into a grin. “Superhuman senses, remember?”

“Oh, shut up,” Tony grumbles, but there’s no heat in it. He sips his cocoa instead of arguing, and _that_ is a great idea. They should do this more often. “I like your socks, Mr. Superhuman.”

Caught off guard, Steve blinks. “What?”

“Your socks.” Tony points to Steve’s feet—after a closer look, Tony can tell that he’s wearing those ridiculous Iron Man socks that Clint had bought him, bright red and gold against the dark tile. “You’ve got good fashion taste.”

Believe it or not, Steve turns red. “I grabbed them out the drawer in the dark,” he says. “I-I’m not wearing them on purpose.”

“Relax, Cap. I think they’re cool. After all, they do have me on them.” Tony’s grinning up at him, and Steve just rolls his eyes.

“So it’s textbook narcissism, huh?”

“Hush, you.” Tony makes a _zip-it_ motion with his index finger, which has Steve smiling. “You have cocoa all over your face, by the way."

Steve frowns, and he tries to lick the milk mustache off. It’s… kind of adorable, like a puppy trying to clean its own face (and failing).

“No, you idiot, it's right here.” And before Tony can think about it too deeply, he’s reaching forward to wipe the milk off Steve’s face with his thumb. It’s a casual gesture, one made unthinkingly in the heat of the moment.

However, Steve freezes, eyes darting down to Tony’s hand before looking back at his face. Tony pulls his hand back like he’s been burned, surprise etching itself into every line of his expression at Steve’s reaction.

“Uh,” Steve blusters, "I just remembered that I have to… call Fury. I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow.” And before Tony can say a word, Steve is up off his stool and down the hallway, leaving Tony to stare after him in confusion.

What the hell was that about?

_I didn’t say anything offensive, did I?_ Tony wracks his brains trying to recall their conversation, to pick out anything that would explain Steve’s strange reaction. But he can’t think of anything… unless…

He stops short, staring at the two mugs in shock as he realizes the unthinkable. _Did Steve think I was coming on to him?_

And then, the second most unthinkable realization: _Was I coming on to him?_

Tony finds that he doesn’t have a _yes_ or _no_ answer to that second question. Groaning, he puts his face in his hands. 

“JARVIS? Please remind me to throw myself off the top of Stark Tower the next time I try to talk to Steve at two o’clock in the morning.”

JARVIS sounds disapproving when he says, “I will do no such thing, sir. I will, however, tell Captain Rogers that you wish to speak to him tomorrow to iron out this altercation."

“Hey, JARVIS, wait, that’s not what I meant—“

There's a quiet _swoosh_ sound that indicates the message as sent, and Tony groans aloud again. "You know what, fuck this. I'm getting drunk." 

When he stands up from the table to head to the lab, he can almost hear Steve's disapproving sigh again, and he hates himself just a little bit more for it.


	2. where the lost things go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trophy goes missing, and the team rushes to find it before Steve can find out. Meanwhile, Natasha forces Tony to come to terms with his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and overall support on the first chapter. It really means a lot and motivates me to keep writing <3
> 
> My school started online remote learning today, so I've been busy with work as well as finishing up this chapter. As always, stay safe and enjoy!
> 
> Note: this story isn't set in any specific year because the politics are not representative of MCU politics or current American politics, so go crazy :)
> 
> Chapter title is a reference from _Mary Poppins Returns_.

Clint catches up to Tony in the hallway a couple days later, breathing hard. “Stark! Someone’s stolen the trophy!”

Tony doesn’t even register the words at first. His mind has been spinning since his early-morning rendezvous with Steve. He’s frustrated as hell and probably still a little hungover—not to mention that Clint’s voice is giving him a major headache. He’s about ready to throw Clint out of a nearby window. It’s a miracle that Tony manages to restrain himself, saying, “Huh?” 

In return, Clint punches him in the arm, just hard enough to hurt. Tony stops dead in the hallway, glaring at him, but Clint is not deterred. “Will you get with the program, man? The Steve trophy is gone!”

“Hold on a minute, birdbrain.” Tony levels him with a look, his expression probably as incredulous as he feels. “Are you telling me that you guys lost the trophy that I 3D-printed in gold?”

Clint blanches. “It was made of _gold_?”

Of course, the trophy is only gold-plated, but Clint doesn’t need to know that. “Yeah, dumbass!" Tony says. "Why do you think I had to print it in the lab?” 

Clint looks like he's going to piss himself. "It was made out of _gold_?" he repeats.

"Never mind the gold," Tony snaps. He’s enjoying this a little too much. "What do you mean, it's gone?"

“I mean it’s gone. Missing, lost, whatever you want to call it.”

Frustrated beyond words, Tony crosses his arms over his chest. “How in the hell do you lose a _statuette?_ ”

“We didn’t lose it!” Clint snaps. “It must have been stolen. It was in my room yesterday morning, but it was gone when we got back from patrol.”

“Yeah, right.” Tony gives him a look. “I don’t think anyone in this tower is dumb enough to steal an Oscar shaped like Captain America." He groans, puts his head in his hands, ignoring the memory of cocoa in the kitchen at two AM that keeps flashing up to haunt him. "I can't believe this."

"That makes two of us, buddy." Clint pats him on the shoulder, but the force behind it is so strong that Tony has to lock his knees in order to stop from stumbling. "It can't have been someone from outside the tower, right?"

"I'll take a look at the security cameras later today," Tony tells him. JARVIS doesn't run surveillance inside their bedrooms, since the AI considers it an invasion of privacy, but there are a few other cameras Tony can try. "Are you sure there was no one there?"

Clint gives him a look that clearly says _how dumb are you?_ and shakes his head. "I'm positive. Someone is obviously trying to steal my thunder, Stark."

Tony rolls his eyes, looking up at the ceiling and muttering a few choice words under his breath. "Whatever. Tell Nat, Bucky, and everyone else except Steve to meet me in the conference room on the fiftieth floor.” He meets Clint’s gaze again, eyes bright and focused. "We have a thief to catch."

* * *

"It can't have been one of us," Sam says. He sits forward in his chair, studying the camera feeds that Tony has put on the TV screen. "Nat, Clint, and I were out in Queens with those drug runners. It must have been you, Bruce, Bucky, or Steve.”

Tony takes a long sip of his coffee, ignoring the thinly veiled tension in the room. They're gathered around the table in one of SI's many conference rooms, everyone looking vaguely concerned. He hopes Steve isn't looking for any of them; it would be a little too suspicious if he found them all gathered here together, with security cam feeds projected onto the television.

"You're assuming an Avenger took it," Nat says smoothly. She leans forward, tilts her head to the side. "I think it was an outside job."

Clint and Sam both stare at her, incredulous. "Nobody has the tech to climb up the tower fifty stories and break into my room undetected," Clint says. "Not even SHIELD. Tony's security is too good—it would spot someone on the side of the building five stories up."

Nat shrugs, leaning back in her seat. "All the evidence points to an interloper," she says. "I'm not saying that's how they got in, but it most definitely isn't one of us."

"Hey, you can't out-rule that as a possibility—"

Tony sighs, standing up from where he's been sitting at the front of the room. "Okay, okay. Stop arguing, guys. I can't believe I have to be the mature adult here."

Clint snorts _._ "Bullshit. You've never been mature."

"Watch your fucking language, Barton."

"Can it, you two," Nat orders. She turns to Bruce and gestures for him to speak; Tony realizes that he's been waiting to get a word in edgeways. Whoops. Tony clenches his hands into fists underneath the table as Bruce clears his throat.

"What do you think, Tony?" he finally asks, and everyone turns their gaze on Tony inquisitively.

Tony flushes underneath the sudden attention. He can't quite meet Bruce's eyes; they haven't had a proper conversation since before Tony's break-up with Pepper. Tony has felt too ashamed to talk to him—he's sure Bruce thinks he's an awful human being at this point.

"I, uh, I don't know," he says. "As long as you're all telling the truth about not taking the trophy—"

"Which we are," Nat says, with a pointed look at the others. They stare back at her, unimpressed.

"—then it must be someone from outside. Don't look at me like that, Clint, I have no idea how they got in either."

Clint huffs and leans back in his seat, with an obvious sarcastic quip ready on his tongue.

Nat speaks up before Clint can engage in more verbal warfare with Tony. "I think the most important thing for us to do, especially right now, is to find the trophy." Her gaze flicks over everyone in the room, steady and unreadable, and _damn._ Tony definitely gets a one-of-the-top-assassins-in-the-world vibe from her. "Keep an eye out. We'll work to try and find the culprit, even if it is somebody in this room." She rises from the table, still eyeing them all with a careful gaze, and steps through the glass doorway towards the elevator.

They're all left staring after her, silent, but it's Clint who speaks first. "Damn, she's scary."

Tony can only nod in agreement, mouth twisting into a humorless grin. "Damn," he agrees, because he's really not sure what else to say.

Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat, causing them all to turn in his direction. "Never mind the trophy," he says. "Is the game still on?"

Bucky barks out a laugh. "You bet your ass it is," he says.

"I can't believe you tried to convince Steve that you don't have an SSN," Bruce sighs, long-suffering. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.

"It almost worked, too," Bucky says mournfully. He leans back in his chair, his eyes glinting maniacally. "Just you wait. Today's my day."

Tony rolls his eyes and stands up, walking slowly towards the door. "I'd love to stay and hear your evil plan, Barnes, but there really aren't enough hours in my day for this, and I've got a hot date tonight." That last part, of course, is a lie—he can feel Bruce's eyes on him, burning into his face—and they all know it.

"Tell Pepper I said hi," Clint tells him, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Something inside Tony breaks at that, and he strides over to the door. "Fuck you, Clint," he tosses over his shoulder before heading to the elevator, anger welling up inside him. God, he needs to hit something.

He'd better go find Natasha.

* * *

"You're not as subtle as you think, you know."

Tony starts. He and Nat have been sitting in comfortable silence in the gym for the last fifteen or so minutes, after going a few rounds in the ring. He's wiping sweat off his brow, and Nat's wrapping her hands, and he has absolutely _no idea_ in hell what she's talking about.

"Huh?"

"You. And Steve." Her voice is gentle, like she's soothing a child to sleep.

It very suddenly reminds Tony of Bruce's demeanor a few weeks ago in the lab, and he grimaces. He stares at the floor, tracing the line of tiles with his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, and he's not really lying, is he? Not if he's been trying so hard not to think about it for the past two days.

Nat sighs, sounding exactly like his mother used to. "Tony, don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." She sits forward on the bench, leveling him with a pointed look. "I've seen the way you look at him. I don't really know how you think you could hide that."

Tony finds himself caught aback, and for once in his life he has no idea what to say. After a moment, he manages, "It's... nothing. God, Natasha, there's nothing—I don't fucking look at him." The words come out too fast, sounding a lot more shallow out in the open than they did in his head.

Natasha shakes her head softly. "Oh, Tony," she says. "It's okay."

He snorts, standing up from the bench. "Forgive me if I'm a little less than willing to share."

Nat shoots him a glare with no heat behind it. "Consider this an intervention."

Tony grimaces at that and strides towards the door out of the gym. "No, thanks," he tosses over his shoulder. "Not really my day today."

" _Anthony Edward Stark_ ," Nat says sharply, and _damn_. Tony stops dead, glancing at her over his shoulder. Her green eyes are bright with emotion, but she only says, "It's okay, you know? You should tell him. He'll understand."

"Yeah, no. No way in hell that's happening." Tony scoffs a laugh and continues towards the door. "I'll see you later, Nat."

"Tony." He hesitates in the doorway as she says, "Just—don't worry about Steve, okay?"

He fixes her with an incredulous look, because seriously? "I try not to."

Nat laughs, rolling her eyes as he continues on his way. He hears, "You are the most stubborn, insufferable man I've ever met," as he walks towards the elevator, muffled but still audible.

Tony blows her a kiss through the glass. "I'll take that as a compliment, sweetheart."

* * *

_"Iron Man, on your left!"_

Tony doesn't even look before throwing himself into a barrel roll in mid-air. On his left, Cap throws his shield into a giant worm, which splatters disgusting radioactive green pus all over Tony. He pauses to wipe his faceplate, looking down at the street and giving Steve a jaunty salute.

"Thanks, Cap," he says into comms, surveying the street for more of the intruding worms. Thankfully, Steve has been civil with him over comms today, which is far more than Tony hoped for. Tony's sure that Steve's been avoiding him for the last few days, so it's a relief to hear the other man bark orders without stopping to make sure he's at least six feet away from Tony.

Of course, since the Avengers are deployed to defend Manhattan from the _giant green worms_ that are currently attacking it, Tony's pretty sure that social distancing is the last thing on Steve's mind right now.

"Hawkeye, you've got two on your six o'clock."

He hears Clint groan as he nocks another arrow—Tony can see him on top of a nearby building. _"How many more of these motherfuckers are there?"_

 _"Just keep on knocking them down, Clint,"_ Nat says. Tony can't see her from his position, but he thinks she's a few streets over, knocking out worms with her widow bites. _"Falcon and I can focus on hitting them at their source."_

JARVIS clears his throat and multiple alerts come up on Tony's HUD. "Sir, the worms are coming from a sewer on 42nd and 9th. I've triangulated their point of origin and determined that their nest can be eradicated with bomb- and grenade-type weaponry."

Tony curses under his breath and repeats the information on the comms, adding, "That's half a mile away." He looks down at the others, who are fighting on the street, and makes a split-second decision that's sure to come back to bite him later.

"Cap, hold on."

Steve makes a squawk of protest as Tony picks him up, bridal-style, and flies in the direction the sewer. _"Tony!"_ he squeaks, and since he never uses anything _other_ than their superhero names on comms, Tony counts it as a win. _"What are you—ahh!"_

"Giving you a ride," Tony says, and he changes his frequency so that it's just him and Cap. "Welcome to Iron Man Airways! Please keep your arms, legs, shield, and other star-spangled body parts inside the moving vehicle at all times."

 _"Iron Man!"_ Steve exclaims, and he sounds absolutely scandalized. Tony just grins to himself and dips into a barrel roll, avoiding multiple worms on the street who have decided to shoot radioactive sludge in their direction. Steve clings to the armor tightly, his hands a vise-like grip on the red and gold metal. _"Tony!"_ He definitely sounds like he's about to wet himself. _"Put me down!"_

"Almost there!" Tony shouts through the noise of the wind rushing by them. From here, he can see the sewer JARVIS mentioned, which is surrounded by worms on all sides. They almost look like a cult surrounding their altar.

He shudders at the thought. These worms are fucking disgusting, and the sooner they're dead, the better.

Finally, Tony sets Cap down on the street about fifteen feet away from the sewer, blasting two of the nearby worms with his repulsors. "Do you have those new smoke grenades I gave you?" he calls as he lifts back into the air, circling the sewer.

Steve lifts up the grenades in response, pulling the pins out and throwing them expertly towards the sewer. There's a resounding boom and smoke fills the air. Tony laughs out loud as the worms all look over at Steve, clearly bothered by the intrusion.

"Watch out, Cap!" he calls, blasting worms left and right as they all start to move in a united front towards Steve, who frowns, unhooking his shield from his back.

 _"Widow, Hawkeye, Falcon, where are you?"_ he demands into his wrist. _"Get up here at once."_

 _"We can't all take a personalized red-and-gold taxi service uptown,"_ Clint mutters scathingly. 

Tony scoffs, checking his HUD for updates. There's a small amount of damage on the chestplate, but nothing he can't fix. "I wouldn't let you within ten feet of my armor, Barton, and that's a fact."

 _"If I was wearing super-tight red, white, and blue spandex would you consider it, Stark?"_ Tony can hear the smirk in Clint's voice and he mentally vows to make good on his Q-tip threat.

 _"Cut the chatter, Iron Man, Hawkeye!"_ Steve yells. It might be Tony's very vivid imagination, but it almost sounds like he's blushing. _"The smoke should calm the worms and allow us to take them down."_

"They don't seem very calm to me!" Tony calls, resisting the urge to chuckle. He couldn't make this shit up—every worm in a fifty foot radius is moving towards Steve, their disgusting mouths moving up and down as they try to scent him. "I think they want a kiss, Steve!"

 _"They're not the only ones, apparently,"_ Nat mutters, and yep. Tony could strangle her.

 _"Cut the chatter!"_ Steve demands again. He's _definitely_ turning red underneath the cowl. God, why does the universe have to do this to Tony? _"Iron Man and Widow, I want you on my right. Hawkeye, find a spot and provide cover fire. Falcon, how's it coming?"_

 _"Just giving this dumbass a ride, Cap,"_ Sam says into the comm; if Tony squints, he can see the their figure in the sky: Sam holding Clint beneath him as they soar across the rooftops towards the sewer. _"We'll be there in thirty seconds."_

_"Fantastic. The smoke should have neutralized them at the source. Focus on killing the remaining worms."_

"Roger that, boss-man," Tony says, and he swoops forward to take care of the wave of zombie-worms heading towards Cap.

It only takes them a half hour or so to finish off all the worms, with no real injuries or damage to the surrounding buildings, thank God. When Steve throws his shield into the last worm, slicing its head clean off, Tony lands on the ground and takes off the faceplate, breathing hard.

"Persistent little fuckers, aren't they?" he says, about ready to fall into bed and sleep for the next week. Who knew fighting crime could be so tiring?

Steve sighs in relief, clipping his shield onto his back and dusting his hands off. "Gosh, I'm glad that's over," he says, grinning despite himself. He looks just as exhausted as Tony. "I could really use a hot shower and a good meal."

Tony eyes the SHIELD operatives around them. They arrived about ten minutes ago with a clean up crew, and now they're all over the scene with their dumb yellow tape and fucking paperwork. He groans aloud when he spots Nick Fury himself. "I think you might have to wait on that shower, Cap. Looks like the Cyclops wants a word."

Of course, Steve frowns at that, trying to hide the humor that dances in his eyes. "Debriefing at oh-eleven-hundred sharp, Iron Man. Don't be late."

Ah. So they're back to polite disinterest. Tony tries not to snap as he tosses, "Have I ever been late before? You wound me, Stevie-Boy," over his shoulder. He needs to get his shoulder checked out; a particularly persistent worm had tried to gnaw it off, and it aches in multiple places.

Steve eyes him carefully. "Oh-eleven-hundred," he repeats. "I will drag your behind into the conference room myself, don't think I won't."

Tony just gives him a jaunty little wave and enjoys the way Steve bites his lip and looks away, hiding a smile. _Shit, maybe Natasha is right,_ dances across Tony's mind for a split second before he reaches the med-tent and is ambushed by multiple field doctors.

* * *

"You _what?!"_

Steve is staring at Clint in so much horror, Tony thinks he's forgotten that anyone else is in the room. He grins to himself, taking a sip from his coffee cup. 

"Don't get your star-spangled panties in a twist, Cap," Clint says, grinning. "It's not that big of a deal."

"You wrote in _Tony's name_ on the ballot?!" Steve is shaking his head slightly, and Tony checks to make sure JARVIS is recording, because this is just comedic gold that he'll want to revisit later. "Clint, that's awful!"

Clint shrugs, taking a sip of his chocolate milk (because he's an actual five-year-old). "I don't much like Murphy or Reynolds. Tony would be a much better mayor."

Still looking at his phone screen, Tony raises his hand for a fist bump. Clint obliges.

Steve is still turning red, over in his corner of the kitchen. "Clint! A write-in doesn't help anyone!" He takes a deep breath, and adds, "The introduction of a third party into an election with two major parties that are running only allows the votes to swing one way or the other! If a certain percentage of people vote for write-ins, or _silly names like you did—"_

"Hey, I genuinely thought that Tony would be a chill mayor. Plus, he'd be able to use dirty dealings to get Bucky a social security number."

"No dirty dealings here, man," Tony adds. "I'd be a squeaky clean politician. But it's not really my calling—genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist and all that. JARVIS, how much would it cost to get a politician under my sway?"

JARVIS makes a disapproving noise, even though Tony is joking. Kind of. "I will decline to answer that, Mr. Stark."

Tony thinks Steve's head is going to explode, especially at the mention of Bucky's supposedly phantom SSN. "Clint!" he says again. "Tony! You don't understand!"

And... there we go. Tony grins as Steve starts to speak faster and faster about the importance of not writing in names as a joke. He'll admit, Steve's argument is making a lot of sense—not that he'd admit it to the other man. Steve's eyes are bright and his face is flushed from exertion as he speaks passionately about the electoral system... and yeah, that's _definitely_ not a train of thought Tony wants to continue while he's in the same room as the other man. He flushes a little, looking away and willing his sudden, ahem... _excitement_ to die down. Maybe a cold shower is in order.

"...And that's why you have to choose one of the major candidates who are running," Steve is finishing up when Tony turns his attention back to the two of them. He checks his watch—six minutes and thirty seconds. Good. Clint hasn't broken his own record, then. "It's really important not to sway the results by being stupid."

Clint hums in vague agreement. He's been blowing bubbles in his chocolate milk for the last five minutes, listening to Steve, but now he sits up, wiping at his chocolate milk-stache with his sleeve. "I still think Tony should run for mayor, though. I'd vote for him."

"Nah, not really my style," Tony says, reclining in his chair. "Steve, you should run. You seem to know a lot about politics. Besides, you'd make a good candidate for my inevitable shadow government."

Clint hides his snigger with his hand, but Steve frowns, drawing his brows together. "No thanks," he says. The words aren't cold, but Tony still resists the urge to shiver at Steve's demeanor.

"I'm _joking,_ Steve. God." Tony shakes his head slightly as Steve rises from the table, looking very uncomfortable.

"I have to go help Bucky with something," he says. It's obviously an excuse—Bucky is down in the gym sparring with Natasha—but Tony doesn't point it out. He exchanges a look with Clint as Steve adds, "I'll see you guys later," and walks out of the kitchen. He is not, Tony notices, wearing his Iron Man socks.

Clint shakes his head slowly, exhaling. "Damn," is all he says. "You must have really fucked up."

Tony rolls his eyes and flips him off. "That wasn't your best moment, Clint," he says. "Write-ins? Was that really the best you could do?"

"Oh, shut up." Clint stands, stretching his back carefully as the bones pop in his neck. "By the way, Natasha wants you to talk to Steve about the missing trophy."

Tony is instantly set on edge. "What? Why?"

"I don't fucking know. Do I look like Natasha to you?"

"Why don't _you_ talk to him about it?"

"Because he'll be instantly suspicious if I ask him." Clint levels Tony with a look as he walks backwards towards the hallway. Fucking show-off. "Face it, Tony. You guys are closer than anyone else on the team. If he's the one who's taken the trophy, he'll tell you."

Tony groans, resisting the urge to faceplant into the kitchen table. "I'm getting far too old for this shit," he says aloud.

"Love you too, Tony dear!" calls Clint, blowing a kiss as he disappears through the doorway. Tony rolls his eyes, staring at his coffee cup as his thoughts run wild.

He sighs, rising from the table. He'd better go talk to Steve, goddamnit.


	3. see the whole world down below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony confronts Steve, finds the trophy, and has mind-numbing sex. In that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> So, wow. It's been a month. I apologize for the time it's taken to get this out to you—I got sucker-punched by writers' block and online schoolwork. I know there are many of you who are struggling through this awful time, and I'm sending a huge digital hug your way. Stay healthy and safe. Thank you to all our front-line workers, as well. You're so appreciated.
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy chapter three!! It's unedited, so I apologize for any mistakes <3
> 
> Chapter title from "Tightrope" by Michelle Williams.

Of course, there's only one place Tony has to look. 

Steve is on the roof, as usual, staring out across the city and clutching his sketchbook in one hand. The sunset paints him in tones of red, orange, and pink, cutting a fine figure against the flaming sky. Distracted by his artwork, he doesn't even seem to notice Tony behind him. The last rays of light filter through his hair, making him look like a golden statue. Oddly similar to the trophy that everyone is so worried about.

Tony takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for this conversation. Usually, he's not one to approach Steve like this. They've always had their issues, in the few years they've known each other. They're prone to fight viciously, with their words as well as their fists, but nothing quite like this. It's always been a tightrope walk, in fear of falling, and Tony's stomach is churning at the thought of upsetting their delicate balance.

He clears his throat awkwardly. 

Steve starts, his sketchbook almost falling from his grasp. "Tony?" he asks, and he starts to stand up. "Did you want to use the roof? I can—I can draw downstairs." He tucks his drawings underneath his arm, looking hilariously unsure. There's a smudge of charcoal on his cheek, Tony notices, and he aches to lean over and wipe it off, but he's sure the gesture would not be appreciated. Not right now.

"No, wait," he says, and he stops, unsure. "I wanted to talk to you, actually." Tony smiles, a flash of teeth. "Would you sit back down?"

Steve is still standing there, looking mighty uncomfortable. "I really don't think—"

"Steve," Tony says firmly, and since when is _he_ the mature one? Pepper must be rubbing off on him—the thought makes him feel slightly sick. "Sit down."

Steve sits, stiff-backed, and Tony comes over to settle himself on the roof by him. They sit in silence for a moment, watching the sun's slow descent below the nearby skyscrapers. All around them is the bustle of people, of cars, but it's silent on the roof except for the roar of the wind.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Steve finally says, breaking the silence, and why in hell is this _so goddamn hard?_

"Um, so, funny thing," Tony manages. He laughs, a little shallowly. "Clint's gone and lost something of mine—just a little keepsake, something my dad made." He's not above lying to save face, at this point. "I was wondering if you'd picked it up? Nat's looked everywhere, and JARVIS has no idea where it went."

Steve is looking incredibly uncomfortable at this point. "A... keepsake?" he repeats. "I, uh, don't think I've picked up anything... what does it look like?"

Tony thanks whatever gods are listening that he'd lost the last of his dignity and pride sometime mid-90s. "It's—you. No, not you. I mean it's an Oscar statuette, but it's shaped like you."

Steve raises an eyebrow, and that's—a far more measured reaction than Tony expected from him, God. What is he missing? "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, and Tony almost believes him. Almost.

He turns to face Steve, who looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. His expression is a little-too _America's sweetheart_ for Tony to believe, though, and he scoffs.

"Are you trying to pull one over on me?" Tony finally snaps. He can feel the dam breaking, the emotions inside him just begging to be released. "I'm not fucking dumb, Steve, okay? I know I talk a big game, act stupid, but I can tell when someone's making fun of me."

Steve stares at him, brow furrowed. "I never—I never said you were stupid, Tony," he manages, and he looks utterly confused.

"Stop it!" Tony exclaims, fists clenching at his sides. He wants to tear his hair out. "Just—stop it. You've made your thoughts quite clear on the subject, okay? I know you've only been putting up with me in order to get the tech, I get that. You don't have to rub it in more."

"Tony, what in the hell are you talking about?!" Steve exclaims. They're both standing now, Tony notices faintly, facing each other and yelling to be heard over the wind. "I don't—I don't _put up with you._ You're my friend, Tony! You're my best friend!"

"Oh, really?" Tony challenges. "Then why have you been avoiding me for the last few days? Don't try to deny it." He takes a step closer, knowing that this is going to go so terribly wrong but not caring, and pokes a finger into Steve's chest. "You think you're so high-and-mighty, Rogers, so moral, but it's all a big fucking lie."

"Don't, Tony," Steve says, sounding pained. Tony ignores him.

"You're flawed, just like the rest of us," he spits, and he knows that they're definitely not talking about the tech anymore. When they fight like this, they fight fast and hard, and anything is fair game. "Admit it. You can't just fucking tell me you're not interested! You have to go into self-preservation mode after I touch you! Am I really that bad, huh? Afraid you're gonna catch something?"

"Tony!" Steve snaps, and Tony enjoys the small victory of getting calm, measured Captain America to _bite back_ like a wild dog. "I've done no such thing. Besides, you're no Saint," Steve says, voice hard. "Is there a human being alive that you wouldn't flirt with?"

Tony blinks, because that's... _really_ not what he'd expected the Captain to say. "Huh?"

"You—you're _fantastic,_ Tony. I really do think so. But you leave everyone hanging onto your every word and get disappointed when they won't leave you alone. Do you enjoy messing with people's emotions like that?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Are you going to try to deny it?" Steve spits. "Just look at what you're doing to poor Pepper! Does she _know_ , Tony?"

"Pepper?" Tony asks, momentarily caught off guard. "Don't you fucking talk about Pepper. What does she have to do with any of this?"

Steve laughs humorlessly. "So you're gonna deny it. You tried to _kiss_ me, Tony."

Tony stares at him, blindsided. "Wait, what?" he breathes. "You—you thought I was trying to _kiss_ you?"

"Well, yeah!" Steve is blushing now, face red for an entirely different reason than the cold wind. "And I won't help you cheat on your girlfriend like that. Pepper deserves better. You're lucky I didn't—"

"Steve," Tony cuts in, staring at the other man like a deer in headlights. "Pepper broke up with me. Two weeks ago."

The look on Steve's face is almost comical. " _Oh_ ," he breathes.

"And I wasn't trying to kiss you!" Tony says, offended. "I'd at least take you out to dinner first, Jesus." Then he freezes, realizing what he's just said. Well, damn.

Steve is still gobsmacked by Tony's first revelation. "You mean, you're not dating Pepper anymore?"

"No!" Tony protests. Then he stops cold, realization hitting him like one of Natasha's slaps across the face. "Hold on. You've been avoiding me for the past three days because you thought I tried to cheat on Pepper? With _you?"_

"Well, yeah." Steve is looking extremely ashamed right now—he won't hold Tony's gaze for longer than a few seconds. "I thought—never mind. It doesn't matter."

And just like that, the fight goes out of both of them. They're left on the roof, silent, with the sun gone down and stars blinking bright above them. The city lights cast strange patterns on Steve's face. He's gorgeous, of course—Tony's always thought so—but even more now, with the lights of the city illuminating him like this.

Tony thinks, _fuck it,_ and blurts out, "Was that the only reason you didn't want to kiss me?"

Steve's face does something complicated, and Tony thinks _God, now I've done it,_ but then Steve murmurs, "I wanted to," and _oh._ Every nerve ending in Tony's body is firing as he stares up at Steve's face in disbelief, mentally processing the fact that _Captain America_ wants to kiss _him_.

"Then do it," Tony challenges, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, and that's all the encouragement Steve needs. The taller man leans down to kiss Tony softly, bringing his arms up and around and setting them on Tony's shoulders.

And that's—that's everything Tony had _hoped_ it would be. He presses forward, kissing Steve back with a fervor that the Captain matches, grinning into Tony's lips as Tony winds his hands through Steve's hair. For a moment, the kiss is hot and passionate, a warmth in the cold night air.

"You idiot," he mutters into Steve's lips after the kiss has slowed. "I can't believe you didn't know about Pepper."

"Give me some credit," Steve huffs, breaking away to smile one of his gorgeous little smiles at Tony, still holding him by the waist. "You're not pushing me away. I must have done something right."

Tony rolls his eyes and kisses Steve harder, eyes shut tight against the wind. 

He resists the urge to laugh aloud, joyfully, because he's _kissing Steve._ Tony sends a little prayer of thanks upwards for any deity who happens to be listening, and mutters, "Yours or mine?" into Steve's ear. The question makes the other man flush a bright red, but Steve manages, "My room is closer."

* * *

It takes them a while to make it down from the roof and safely into Steve's rooms. For one, they're far too caught up in each other to pay much attention to the elevator, and Steve presses Tony up against the wall of the lift in order to better kiss his neck. Unfortunately, he also presses the button for every other floor in Avengers Tower—so it's quite a wild ride back to Steve's room.

Sixty plus floors later, they stumble into Steve's room, and Tony is about to make a sarcastic quip about Steve's superhuman strength when he spots... the trophy.

What the fuck.

Steve, keenly aware of Tony's hesitation, pulls back from his neck in order to follow Tony's gaze. When he spots the Avengers Oscar, sitting on his dresser, he breathes out a small chuckle and says, "Yeah. I wasn't being too honest with you before." 

Tony can only gawk, because this makes no fucking sense. Are Clint's stupid shenanigans going to cockblock him? _Again?_ "Uh... okay. Where the hell did you get this?" Steve doesn't seem to know about the game; this entire situation can be rectified. Probably.

Aware that their more pleasurable progress has been halted for the moment, Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and promptly sits on the bed. "Clint's room."

"So it _was_ you!"

Steve looks sheepish—he won't meet Tony's gaze. "Please don't tell him." His lips quirk for a second, and he muses, "But if it's a keepsake that Howard made you, then what was it doing in Clint's room?"

"Uh—it was on loan," Tony lies. He crosses his arms over his chest, and he fires back, "Why were you in Clint's room in the first place?" so that Steve can't call him on his bullshit.

Steve groans from where he's lying back on the bed, facing the ceiling. "Do you really want to know?"

"My dear Captain," Tony says, lips quirking as he crosses the room to sit on the bed beside Steve. He casts the statuette a cursory glance. "I would never suspect you of such treachery. Breaking and entering? Oh, the horror!" His lips stretch into a crude grin as he manages, "Were you looking for Clint's kinky magazines and shit? Because I assure you, he has far too many of them."

Then, his brain kicks into gear and he realizes what, exactly, he's saying, and to whom he's saying it. _Fuck._ His cheeks don't redden, not exactly, but it's a close thing.

Steve sounds oddly scandalized, and his cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink. "What—no! Of course not!" He lowers his voice a little, muttering, "I was looking for his social security card. I was—I was going to file his taxes for him."

Tony chokes on his own spit, because _that_ was not what he was expecting to hear. "Shit, really?"

"And, well, the statuette is pretty," Steve says, sounding far more embarrassed than the situation warrants. He looks at Tony, finally, from underneath his lashes. "I'm sorry, Tony. I didn't realize it meant so much to you. You can have it back, I swear. And I know it was wrong to snoop through Clint's stuff, but I thought—"

"Steve, it's okay." He levels Steve with what he hopes is a comforting look. "Really. Don't sweat it."

Steve sits up, his bulky frame looking awkward on the bed. "You mean it?"

"It's fine," Tony repeats, and he trails a hand up Steve's side, using it to pull Steve in for a long kiss that leaves them both gasping for breath. Tony breathes, "I can think of something much more fun than snooping through Clint's room, though," against Steve's lips.

Goddamnit, he's a sucker for this man.

"Yeah?" Steve's eyes are dark as he looks at Tony through his lashes. His voice comes out low. "What do you have in mind? Espionage, maybe some sparring?"

"Just shut up and kiss me," Tony demands, and Steve obliges.

* * *

"Clint is the winner," Nat tells Tony the morning after. "We decided last night."

Tony barely hears her. He's on cloud nine, to be honest—floating through life without a care. His thoughts are a recurring rhythm: _Steve. Steve. SteveSteveSteveSteveSteve._ He can't _not_ think about the man.

So he just hums in acknowledgement as he sips his coffee.

"Woah, what are you _on,_ Stark?" chortles Clint from beside him. "Nat, I'll have what he's having."

"Just coffee," she informs him, with a sidelong, knowing glance back at Tony.

"Bullshit," Clint says matter-of-factly. "You're never this chill about games, especially not when I win." He frowns, tilting his head to the side. "What is it? Did you and Steve finally hook up?"

" _Clint_ ," Nat says, but she looks like she's enjoying this.

"No way!" Clint exclaims, appraising Tony's face. "You did. You actually fucking did."

Tony can only bring himself to flip the man off. "You have no proof," he says half-assedly. "The game was stupid anyway."

"That's not what you said a month ago," Clint says, sing-song. "You and Steve finally got together! Therefore, the Steve Game was a success."

"What do you mean, a _success_?!" Tony demands, setting his coffee cup down considerably harder than he should. He feels blindsided, but it all makes sense in hindsight—the game must have only been an excuse to get Tony to spend more time with Steve. Fucking Barton. Fucking Natasha. "Were you _trying_ to get Steve and me together?!"

"I'm sorry, the _what_ game?!" 

They all turn to see Steve standing in the kitchen doorway, looking decidedly less-than-happy. In fact, he looks like he's about to commit a homicide.

"Clint," Tony says, and he can't keep the cheerful note from his voice, "you might want to start running. Now."


End file.
